The Khan's Choice WH40K
by Mattwho81
Summary: A story set in the Horus Heresy. Part 1 of 5
1. Chapter 1

Nothing grew on Chondax for it was a wasteland of endless white salt plains, unbroken and featureless. No cities or outposts defiled the horizon and the swirling salt-sands soon buried any structure not constantly watched. Under the burning gaze of three suns the wind howled a mocking lament making a farce of any attempt to build permanent homes. It was a strange fate that on such a worthless world the fate of millions would be decided. Dropping through the stratosphere was a golden Thunderhawk; burning a contrail across the sky it bore the livery of the VIIth Legion, the Imperial Fists. Inside the jostling transport the roomy troop compartment was mostly empty; the racks unfilled save for two very different figures. The first cut a regal figure in his mark IV power armour, the clean lines and shining commendations of his golden plate the very embodiment of the Fists majesty. His face was youthful and proud, as yet unscarred by the savagery of war and his epaulets bore the marks of a Sergeants badge, so new it still shone. His name was Durhan and his hearts were filled to bursting with pride and duty at his new rank and his first independent mission. The other figure was as different as night is from day, a shadow cut loose and let free to walk the stars. His armour was a bastardised mix of models and scavenged parts, scarred and torn in some places and in others plates were held together with crude rivets. Every surface was black and unadorned save for his legion's badge, itself dulled and non-reflective, the white raven of the XIXth Legion. The Raven Guard bore the uniquely pale skin and black eyes of Corax's children and his face was a mess of scars and old wounds, however this did not obscure the sly, cocky grin across his lips. Yet the eeriest thing about him was the silence in which he moved. Every other legion, regardless of which mark plate they bore, moved in an almost subliminal hum of whirring fibre-bundles and buzzing fuel cells, but the XIXth had mastered some arcane and closely guarded secret that rendered this mute. His name was Shran and his hearts were a bizarre mix of insolence, humour and pain.

The two Astartes stood silently strapped into their support webbing amongst the jostling and lurching compartment, the only movement came from Shran as he flexed his lightning claws shooting the blades in and out, in and out. Finally Durhan turned his head and said in an irritated tone, "_Do you have to do that?_" Shran grinned his most ingratiating smile replying, "_It helps me think_". Durhan couldn't help himself saying, "_Well it distracts me from thinking_". Shran raised an eyebrow and said, "_What's this? An Imperial Fist letting someone get under his skin, shame on you young one._" Durhan snorted and said "_We are on an important diplomatic mission to the Vth Legion; you should be focussed on the perfect execution of your duties not poking your superior officers._" Shran only response was to shoot his claws out again; he frowned and said, "_See that, third blade on the left, definitely out of synch. Yes, yes it's almost a full two milliseconds behind the rest". _He retracted his blades and pulled out a tool kit from his belt, prizing off the covering on his left gauntlet he set to work one-handed with a set of micro-lathes and Nano-fibres. The infinitely delicate work should have been impossible in a lurching, bucking aircraft but Shran seemed completely oblivious as he carried out the work. Durhan bit down on a retort at the insolent marine, but frankly he couldn't help being a bit impressed at the care and skill his kinsman showed. In fact it was hard not to be in awe of the Raven Guard; though Durhan was technically the superior officer on this mission he was painfully aware of his own youth and inexperience. His own career was brilliant but short, in normal times he would have had another half-century of tempering before being considered for promotion but these were hardly normal times and it would be an insult to send anything less than a sergeant on this mission. Shran's file however was littered with commendations and notable compliances: Deliverance, Tormeda, Jorgall, Valhalla, the Heliopolis Arc and Istvaan V. It was that last one that stood out and Durhan had heard all the dark barracks rumours, the campaign by seven legions to cut down the arch-traitor Horus and his allies only for the first wave to be betrayed by their supposed brothers in arms: the Word Bearers, Iron Warriors, Night Lords and the Alpha Legion. The Raven Guard had lost seventy five thousand marines in the horror of the drop-site massacres followed by ninety-eight days on the run with all eight traitor legions on their heels and the final stand against Angron's World Eaters. It was said Shran's company had been on the front line against the blood crazed berserkers, right in the thick of the fighting, only the miraculous intervention of Corax's reserve fleets had saved the XIXth Legion and let a scare few thousand escape. Still Shran had been mutilated by some World Eater Captain before his brothers dragged his body onto a Thunderhawk and he slipped into a sus-an-membrane coma on the trip back to Terra. When Corax set sail once more to seek vengeance he was forced to leave his most critically wounded in the care of Terra's apothecaries in the slim hope they would recover. Months later Shran had awoken to find his brothers and Primarch gone and had marched right up to Rogal Dorn himself to demand a mission, any mission. Durhan had been in awe to be assigned alongside so honoured a veteran but on the voyage to Chondax had barely seen the Raven Guard and now they were finally stuck together was finding him rather irritating.

He was shaken out of his musings as the Thunderhawk hit a bad patch of turbulence, bouncing the aircraft several hundred feet up and down. The fuselage seemed to squeal as the serf-crew fought for control and eventually got it to settle down, Shran was still bent over his gauntlet his only response to mutter, "_Rogal couldn't have spared us a Stormbird eh?_" Durhan frowned, "_Primarch Dorn has precious few resources as it is and assigns them to priority missions. Beside_ _the Thunderhawk is a perfectly serviceable pattern and has been tested and certified for the Legions._" Shran actually smiled at that one and said, "_Ha, that's a joke, I've seen sturdier ration cans, a babe-in-arms could kick a hole straight through this hull. Now the Stormbird there's a plane with some weight to it, some heft, I could fly one through a wall of flak and not feel a thing._" Durhan grimaced and said shortly, "_Well you better get used to it, with Mars still in insurrection production has ground to a halt. Soon we all may well have to make do with whatever we can scrounge._" His reference to Shran's patchwork armour was not lost and neither of them had been surprised when the adeptus terra (with the typical bureaucrat's ability to solve any problem by ignoring it) had simply glossed over the multitude of haphazard variants as 'Mark V' armour. It was Shran's turn to grimace as he said, "_Light of Terra, I pity any company that has nothing but these ramshackle crates to get them dirtside._" His remark was overwritten though as his claws suddenly popped out, his frown was covered over by a smile as he said, "_Ah there you see perfect alignment, now let's see where we are shall we?_" Durhan nodded and punched the controls to activate the hololith; the composite image generated from the external cameras showed an endless desert in all directions. "_Thrones sake_" muttered Shran, "_What a forsaken place to spend five years_". For once Durhan was in complete agreement, "_The Vth was sent here to mop up the Orks fleeing from the triumph on Ullanor. A simple little cleansing operation that they somehow turned into a gruelling five year chase round and round the planet. I can't understand how the Vth messed this up so badly, do we even need these sorts of barbarians on our side? Their almost as primitive as Leman Russ' VIth or Vulkan's XVIIIth_". Shran fixed the Fist with a steel gaze and said gravely, "_Do not disparage the Salamanders in front of me, you didn't see them struggling against insanity in the Urgall Depression, even in the jaws of utter defeat not a single one of them gave up while he had breath left in his body: not a single one." _Durhan somehow managed not to look shame faced as his companion continued,_ "Anyway we haven't heard anything from the VIth since they were dispatched to Prospero, they might still be fighting out there somewhere_". Durhan shook his head sadly, "_I don't doubt the Space Wolves are fighting but the question is who for? You mark my words those savages will throw in their lot with the Traitors at the first opportunity; they'll be in like-minded company with the Night Lords and the World Eaters. As will the Vth if we don't succeed in our mission._" Shran looked up at the bulkhead above him and mused under his breath, "_I'm not so sure, I've got a feeling there's been a lot more happening down on Chondax than the official reports tell_". Suddenly Durhan pointed to a grey smudge on the hololith and cried "_See there!_" It swiftly resolved as the Thunderhawk bore down on it, "_There it is the camp of the Primarch Jaghatai Khan and his White Scars Legion_" Durhan yelled gleefully. Shran began checking his ammunition pouches were full and replied, "_Just don't let them catch you calling them that, they hate people talking behind their back in Terran Gothic._"

Within a few minutes the Thunderhawk had acquired landing clearance and settled onto an assigned pad. The two Space Marines gathered their possessions and marched down the landing ramp to be greeted by a squad of white-clad Astartes. The pair saluted their hosts with the sign of the Aquila and were met by the pre-unity salute of a clenched fist over the heart. Durhan addressed the opposing sergeant, a scarred and pitted veteran with his black hair bound in a traditional topknot, "_Well met brothers, I am Sergeant Durhan of the VIIth and this is Shran of the XIXth, glorious salutations to your Legion and…_" He was rudely cut off as the sergeant snarled in the curious accent of Chogoris "_Skip the pleasantries, what do you want?_" Durhan was brought up short by the rudeness of the response but thankfully Shran quickly stepped in saying, "_We carry the seals of Terra upon missives of great importance._" The sergeant silently held out a hand but Shran said, "_They are for the eyes of your Khan alone, not lesser men_". The sergeant grunted once then nodded to the right and set off with his squad. The pair of Astartes were left to follow in their wake and as they walked Durhan whispered, "_What was that?"_ Shran explained _"To the tribesmen of Chogoris false smiles and long winded speeches are for the weak and the deceitful. A warrior speaks his intent plainly and boldly and does not waste words on flattery or sycophancy." _The two lapsed into silence and as they walked were able to observe the vast camp, long trains of munitions and fuel bowsers were everywhere and frantic activity filled the air with noise. Both of them felt keenly the difference to their own legions, this was a far cry from the disciplined order of the Imperial Fists or the silent reflections of the Raven Guard. Bike squadrons raced to and fro and packs of warriors in full plate laughed and drank in open friendship, bets were made in front of superiors whose only response was to cheer and egg on their men's frivolity. In one narrow alleyway two Astartes brawled in the mud only to pick themselves up and walk off together roaring with laughter, their cause of enmity utterly forgotten. Truly these marines deserved their nickname the 'Laughing Killers'. The buildings themselves were curiously thin and impermanent, metal framed workshops and barracks made as flimsy as possible. As if any second they might just pick up and move to another continent for no other reason than the sheer hell of it. Finally the group came up to a massive building large enough to house a warhound Titan and marked with curious icons, two guards in Tactical Dreadnought armour stood at the door and crossed oversized tulwar blades before the group. The Chogoris sergeant said, "_Couple more_", the guards uncrossed their blades and said in an even more mangled accent, "_Bit late_, _they've already started_". Durhan and Shran were perplexed by the exchange but before they could enquire their escort simply about turned and walked off without a word. The two expected to have their weapons confiscated and be thoroughly searched but the guards just stood there and finally the two realised they were expected to show themselves in.

They marched into the dark echoing space and were surprised by the interior, what on the outside had seemed a massive fortress now seemed like some chieftains long house. Free standing mahogany wall panels divided the area into discrete chambers and thick rugs filled the floors. As they proceeded down a corridor towards the sound of voices they smelt curious incense burning nearby saw tapestries of spear carrying warriors next to heavily laden bookcases and framed antique weapons. Obsolete flintlocks hung next to curious Xeno guns and meson beamers and explosive tipped long-lances and some twisted relics the pair couldn't name. They marched in pace until they turned a corner and finally came upon the heart of this place. In a large chamber stood a group of captains in the old mark II pattern plate, each marked with the traditional pale scars upon their cheeks, but above them all towered the awe-inspiring visage of the Primarch. Sitting in a hand carved throne of wood he was a figure to steal the breath away, his master crafted armour as white as mother of pearl and the curved Tulwar blade at his side sharp as the razors kiss. His lean face and leathery skin spoke of days in the saddle and his aquiline nose and sweeping moustache gave him a noble air but his glittering eyes hinted at a deep intelligence and sharp insight. His form radiated power and vitality, every fibre proclaiming his grace and majesty for here was general born to lead men up to the gates of hell itself and beyond. It seemed wrong for him to be just sitting still as if such a demi-god should always be in motion, always racing towards the horizon. Even seated and unspeaking he dominated the room for he was majestic, austere and relentless, he was the desert wind made flesh, the beskar eagle on the hunt.

To their credit the pair of visitors recovered quickly and bowed deeply to the Primarch when everybody just stared at them they realised they were expected to speak first. Mindful of what happened at the landing pad Durhan spoke up swiftly, "_Greetings mighty Khan, I bring missives from your brother in arms Rogal Dorn, he seeks your aid in this hour of darkness and calls upon you to bring your Legion to Terra to fight in the name of the Emperor beloved by all_". The Primarch did not speak but gestured to his left where a Marine stood with the marks of an equerry, he spoke with a deep and rich voice and said, "_Welcome son of Dorn, welcome son of Corax you are our honoured guests in this place, I am Targutai Yesugei and I speak for the Kahn. Know that the laws of hospitality be upon all who come before the Kahn and no harm shall come upon you nor shall you be permitted to harm those under the same aegis_". The pair were taken aback by this most curious greeting and seeing their confusion Yesugei continued, "_With that in mind I present our other honoured guests: Captain Gorgeth of the Son of Horus Legion and Apostle Jahrut of the Word Bearers Legion and their escort". _At that the gathered White Scars captains parted like a tide to reveal a group of Astartes standing proud in the despised heraldry of the Traitor Legions, all hovering at the right hand of the Primarch and grinning with the flush of a victory already won.

CHAPTER 2: Coming soon.


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment all was silent the entire gathering frozen in shock, then with a roar of fury Shran leaped towards the rebels' claws shooting from his gauntlets eager for blood. He was brought down in mid-leap by a blur of white ceramite, a White Scar captain tackling him to the ground and pinning him there. Shran bucked like a wild animal seeking to throw him off but the captain grappled him back down and the two rolled in over each other in a ringing clash of ceramite on ceramite. Shran was suddenly brought to stillness by the unforgettable sound of a dozen bolters being cocked and levelled at him. Surrounded by a ring of White Scars he raised his hands in submission and stood slowly back up, his opponent stood too and he was almost indistinguishable from his brethren save for that where they bore curved Tulwar blades he carried a straight edge Terran pattern sword.

"_You_" snarled Shran to the captain with the straight edged blade, "_I would know your name_".

The captain shrugged and replied in the accent of Chogris "_I am Ghorghis_"

"_Gorghis_" spat Shran "_I will remember that name_"

The Captain's only response was to shrug as if content to let fate determine the outcome of that encounter.

They were interrupted by a cough from the dais, where the Primarch and his entourage had stood utterly still this whole time. "_If we might continue_" said Yesugei.

Durhan rallied back, "_What is the meaning of this?_" he growled suppressed fury "_You allow Traitors into your court?_"

"_Traitors?_" Came a new voice, harsh and brutal with the Cthonic accent of the Sons of Horus, it came from the captain on the stage the one known as Gorgeth. "_Who are you to speak of treachery, you who speak for a conniver and backstabber_"?

"_I was not talking to you_" growled Durhan, "_Does not the Khan demean himself with addressing lowly soldiers?_"

Yesugei slammed him staff down upon the dais, "_Do not disparage the great Khan, in his wisdom he has decided that he will not speak of his favour until the real truth is known. Until then I speak in his name_".

"_Truth_?" cried Durhan, "_How can he not know the truth, has he not heard already of the dark deeds on Istvaan, has he not heard the cries of rebellion and treason across the stars?_"

"_Dark days indeed"_ said Gorgeth, "_When a father would turn against his son, sending lapdogs and assassins against those who dared question his megalomaniacal ambitions_"

"_You lie!_" roared Durhan, "_It was Horus who declared this heresy when he virus bombed his own men."_

"_You see my Lord" _said Durhan turning to the Primarch, "_From their own lips they admit the truth, when Horus Lupercal dared to ask a simple question the Emperor ordered his own troops to assassinate their Warmaster. Thankfully those of us to remain loyal to the ideals of the great crusade were able to prevent this crime, but we were not alone. The Primarchs Fulgrim, Angron and Mortarion also had their own men turned against them and were forced to purge them from the ranks. Thousand dead by the word of an Emperor who refused even to get his hands dirty._"

It was all Durhan could do to keep from leaping at the worm, but he growled "_You twist words like a snake, but even you cannot hide the truth of Istvaan V, the drop site massacres and the death of a Primarch_".

Gorgeth, shook his head like an actor preparing for a lament, "_I do not need to hide the tragedy of Istvaan V, seven full legions sent to commit murder when assassination failed. I ask you, seven full legions for a simple little dispute. Does that sound like the reaction of a loving father or the brutality of a Tyrant desperately clinging to power? And when four of them paused to ask Horus what had happened, they were betrayed."_

"_No!" _screamed Shran pushing forwards, only to be held down by a half-dozen captains "_You shall not twist that day for your mad schemes!_"

"_I only speak truth_" roared Gorgeth his voice carrying through the room like a practiced orator, "_It was the Raven Guard, Salamanders and Iron Hands who fired first, attacking their brothers in arms at the first hint of doubt. Ferrus Manus himself sought to cut down Fulgrim in a fit of jealous rage, the Phoenician was forced to defend himself and had to strike down the Gorgon when the madness took him._"

"_My Lord do not listen_" pleaded Durhan, "_They speak lies, vile lies to hide sinister purpose_".

The argument was cut through by the sound of Yesugei's staff striking the dais, "_Enough_" he spat, "_All around are accusations and deceit, you each seek to turn the truth to your own ends but none of you have managed to find the true heart of the matter._" All eyes were fixed upon the equerry but it was a single voice from the crowd that replied calling out, "_What was the question that started this rebellion?" _asked Captain Ghorgis.

A new figure stepped forwards, the Word Bearer Apostle, his dark armour wreathed in parchments and holy icons, his voice was like a clear spring stream and it entranced all with its beauty and grace, "_Horus simply asked one thing, why is the Emperor setting himself up as a God?_". The room fell into shocked silence, as Jahrut continued "_Yes, the hidden reason the Emperor abandoned the Great Crusade, while we fought and bleed and died he turned his back on his people to secretly build his power in the Warp. He cares only for himself and his own glory, we were all deceived, we have no place in his grand scheme and when the time comes he will spurn us all and ascend to Godhood._

"_This makes no sense" _barked Durhan, and in comparison to the Apostle his voice seemed gravely and grating on the ears of the crowd_ "The Emperor spent centuries dismantling the false religions; he brought reason and enlightenment to the stars not blind dogma."_

"_Enlightenment? How many peaceful worlds were crushed underfoot in the name of the Emperor's enlightenment and benevolence?" _countered Jahrut and the crowd seemed to visibly relax as he resumed speaking _"The Emperor has already abandoned us and our ideal, soon he will climb his Golden Throne and have humanity worship him like a god."_

"_Do not listen my Lord_" cried Durhan "_Your Legion could yet turn the tide, the fate of the galaxy is in your hands!"_

"_Indeed it is_" replied Jahrut, "_For the Emperor will abandon the galaxy in his quest for apotheosis. Horus must save humanity, for it is evident the Emperor will not."_

"_Think of what these mongrel dogs are asking you to do" _Pleaded Durhan desperately,_ "They would have you spit on your oath of loyalty, betray your own father, you must trust the Emperor to do what is right."_

Suddenly the Khan shifted in his seat, it was the slightest of movements yet it froze everybody in the room like mice in the presence of a great cat stirring. Everybody was still and silent as they waited for any sign from the Khan as to the course of his thoughts but there was nothing. Eventually Yesugei cleared his throat and said, "_We have heard much today and there are a great many things to consider_". He stamped his staff down three times, "_I declare this moot adjourned for four hours while the Kahn considers his responses. Take them to their quarters._" And with that the crowd of captains closed in around the two groups of warrior and forced them out in different directions…


	3. Chapter 3

Khans Choice 3

From the great pavilion they marched with Shran and Durhan surrounded by White Scar guards led by the Captain Ghorgis, though if they were there to protect or imprison the envoys was unclear. Through the busy encampment they marched in silence, serfs and menials making way for the powered armoured column. Suddenly Durhan's patience snapped he grabbed Ghorgis by the shoulder and spun him around, the guard's bolters came up in an instant but the Imperial Fist ignored them and demanded, "Why? Why would you even entertain such base traitors?". Ghorgis matched his gaze with iron resolve and snarled, "The Emperor makes the same mistake all old men do, he seeks to build a strong centre, an eternal Palace to stand against time itself but The Khan teaches us that only the wind and the horizon are eternal. Horus Lupercal understands this, he does not seek the centre of things, wherever he is that is the centre". Durhan snarled at this pronouncement and sought to punch the Captain in a futile gesture of outrage but the White Scar twisted in a most curious manner and suddenly Durhan found himself flying backwards knocking Shran to the ground before crashing into the guards. In a tangle of gold and white limbs they fell to the ground in a manner totally unbecoming proud Astartes, it took several moments to untangle themselves and from the gaggle of vox clicks Durhan knew that the rest of the White Scars were laughing at him over closed channels. In fuming silence Durhan got to his feet and walked shame faced the rest of the way to their barracks, determined to ignore the way the crowds heads would turn to look at him pass. From their chuckles and whispers he knew the tale of his shaming was being spread far and wide by his guards but he held his head high and refused to meet their gaze. Eventually they came to a grey two story building and the guards parted before him, he glared at Ghorgis and snarled "There will be a reckoning between us" but Ghorgis's only reaction was to shrug as if unconcerned. Disgusted by the lack of honour he saw Durhan turned on his heel and marched without pausing into the interior of the barracks. Inside it was largely empty save for a few rugs and chairs, Durhan surveyed the meagre accommodation and tuned to vent his frustration on his companion. It was at this point he realised that he had entered alone and in fact had been walking alone for some time, it defied belief for Astartes minds were conditioned to perfect perception and recall but he could not even recall the moment that the Raven Guard had slipped away. He sighed heavily and growled, "I hate it when they do that".

Elsewhere Shran ghosted through the camp, ghosting from shadow to shadow as he passed unseen and unremarked. He kept to the edges of buildings moving along lintels and drains, he bypassed sentries and watch posts without disturbing a single one. His progress through the camp was slow and careful for he was not one of the elite infiltrators of his legion, indeed the Shadowmasters of the Ravenspire had judged him to be merely competent. Of course when it came to matters of stealth what the Raven Guard judged to be merely competent would be considered exceptional by anyone else's standards. His armour may have been a blend of different marks but it functioned silently and auspex sweeps and thermal tracking swept over him without alarm. His target was the receding figure of Captain Ghorgis marching briskly through the camp, Shran his silent shadow. As he moved through the camp the Raven Guard could not help but linger by knots of Space Marines laughing and carousing in good cheer. Their levity and camaraderie seemed a distant memory to Shran, he could barely a time when he had known such simple contentment, such a straight forward life. Once it had all been so simple the enemy in front of him was vile, the friends beside him stalwart and the commanders above him noble and wise. Then had come Istvaan V, then had come the horror and insanity of the drop site massacres and everything had changed. Shran had fought through the carnage and slaughter, seeing his friends and comrades gunned down in their multitudes, the faces of every one filled with confusion and betrayal. Whenever he closed his eyes he could see their staring corpses lying in the mud and filth questioning why he had lived and they died, accusing him of failing to save even one of them. The apothecaries and medicaes of Terra had spoken of survivor's guilt and post-traumatic stress but Shran was not mortal, he was Astartes and pain that would cripple a mere man was the fire that drove him on moment by moment. Since that day all loyalties had been suspect, all oaths to be questioned Shran looked upon his fellows and saw only the subterfuges hidden behind false smiles and hollow greetings. For himself his heart was a seething cauldron of rage, he tried to hide it behind a veneer of civility and sarcasm but his hands itched at the very thought of being near the Traitors. He longed to abandon his concerns in the heat of combat and excise the dead faces of his friends in the blood of the foes, but he was Raven Guard to the core and bound his rage in chains of duty and loyalty.

While Shran had been musing Ghorgis had moved on, not pausing to talk with the men, yet his path was meandering and byzantine moving against the press of the crowds, even crossing back on itself numerous times. Shran cursed his lack of attention and redoubled his efforts to track the Captain but he was hard pressed to keep up especially whenever the Captain moved across a busy intersection. It was not until the third time the Raven Guard nearly lost his prey that he began to detect a pattern in his movements. It would not be obvious to any not trained in subterfuge and stealth but the White Scar was following a variation on a basic evasion pattern taught to all recruits of the XIXth Legion. It was not a pattern for avoiding direct pursuit, more suited for confusion of casual observers, still wherever the White Scar was going he clearly did not want people to know his course. Convinced his decision to track the White Scar was correct Shran redoubled his efforts and his suspicions were fulfilled when Ghorgis eventually came to the doorway of a large building marked with the symbol of the Word Bearers. Ghogoris paused to talk to the two White Scar Guards but Shran ghosted around the side of the building and managed to scale the wall and gain entrance through an unguarded vent.

The vent was a tight fit, clearly not designed for figure clad in the bulk of power armour, but by wedging himself in diagonally Shran was able to squeeze into the space. He slowly worked his way through, cursing every time his armour ground and screeched against the narrow walls. Eventually the shaft opened up into a large internal area and Shran was able to drop onto an overhanging support beam. He took a moment to check his armour's integrity and to survey the building, it followed the White Scar's typical pattern being essentially a hollow two story space. Above a network of support beams held up the roof and below the area was divided into discrete rooms through free standing mahogany panels. Strange signs and unusual weapons were hung on the walls and below Shran's hearing could pick up the faint sounds of ceramite boots hitting the floor. He began to move slowly hand over hand across the beams towards the centre of the room and as he did so he began to map the space. He immediately realised there was something wrong with the layout of the panels, strange angles and curious looping corridors that seemed to turn through themselves though he could see no intersections. There almost seemed to be more passages than the building had room for, he had no doubt if he was trying to navigate the rooms below even his conditioned mind would be hopeless lost. It was typical of the Word Bearer's to disguise cunning traps even in their own dwellings yet in their dogmatism they had failed to consider the alternative method he had found. As he moved closer to the centre he began to see that the rooms were not laid out randomly, they seemed to be less a collection of corridors and more a sign, or a word writ large, he could almost understand it, almost see the name it was spelling out…

Suddenly Shran felt a surge of danger and slammed his eyes shut, he had no wish to understand to filth of the Word Bearers, no wish to share in their damnation. Their path was the road to corruption and to understand them was to understand madness, he pressed on in darkness using his enhanced senses to head towards the centre of the space. Soon he perceived he was in the centre of the building and broke open his eyes a tiny silver to survey the space. Directly underneath him stood two Word Bearers bearing Thunderhammers, they were standing guard over a thick tome, bound in distinctive human skin and marked in the runes of Cholcis. Shran's understanding of the Word Bearer's tongue was basic at best so the closest translation he could manage was Tome of Urizen, or perhaps Book of Lorgar, still he knew here was the proof he had been seeking. Still finding proof and taking it were two different things altogether and he would need to use every advantage he had to complete his mission. Study of the surrounding corridors revealed another another three Word Bearers, they were armed respectively with a Plasma gun and bolters and their walk formed was from random turns making their vigil unpredictable and impenetrable. Shran considered his foes: their fortification was cunning and well planned but the design of the area limited their options, no matter how manner turns they took they must pass through the central space that gave the Shran the advantage. Armed only with his Lightning Claws he could not match their range, but at close quarters Shran would match his skills against any other Astartes, he only had to get them close enough together. For several minutes he lurked over the guards, silently tensing one muscle at a time to prevent cramp and keep him fresh. Then he saw his opportunity coming, the other guards were looping back towards the centre in a few more moments they would cross directly underneath him. Shran held his breath in anticipation, willing the Word Bearers not to deviate from their route, then suddenly they were all underneath him and he knew his moment was perfect. He pushed off from the beam and dived headfirst at the ground Lightning Claws spearing out in front of him.


	4. Chapter 4

Khans Choice 4

Shran let go of the beam and flew head first towards the ground, the air rushing past his face for a split second, then he crashed into the Word Bearer guards below. He had timed his attack to perfection landing on the greatest threat, the guards bearing Thunder Hammers. His lighting claws plunged into the gap between their helms and gorgets with all of his inertia and mass behind them and before the traitors could even react he had ripped out their spinal cords. The three crashed to the ground in an untidy heap and for a few precious moments Shran had to struggle to regain his footing, against mortal troops that would not have mattered but these were Astartes and for all their treachery their reactions were as lightning. Two them levelled their guns one of them armed with the plasma rifle the other a bolter but somehow seeming the more dangerous with a helm that shifted and writhed as a daemonic face twisted and snarled beneath the ceramite surface. Even as Shran rose to a crouch a trio of bolt rounds glanced off his pauldron shaking his frame with bone jarring force, but he had already countered this. By waiting until the Word Bearers were all close in together he had limited the range and blocked their angles of attack. He did not even try to stand but instead dove forward, rolling across the floor, knocking two of the traitors off their feet before getting an knee underneath himself and throwing himself upright straight at the last Word Bearer who had hung back. The traitor snarled with fury and leapt to meet him, discarding his bolter and drawing his combat knife, the two giants slammed together in a ringing crash of metal on metal. His opponent was a towering brute made even taller by a pair of bone horns that grew out of his helm and came together over his head and they were hung with strangely marked cymbals that clashed and rang every time he moved. His Mark IV plate was heavily modified but unlike Shran's it did not seem to be out of necessity instead born of a perverse glee to defile its spirit and dedicate it with foul runes and lewd icons. The two bitter foes wrestled for a moment seeking the advantage but both were evenly matched in strength and weight. Shran's lightning claws scored deep gouges across his foe's chest plate; the traitors' combat knife angled into to the gap between his chestplate and pauldron but was deflected off a bonding stud. Shran heard the pounding off boots behind him and knew the other Word Bearers were back in the fight; he retracted his left claws and grabbed two-horns' gorget then twisted hard to his right sending him stumbling forward into daemon faces' path. The two traitors crashed together throwing off their attack but Shran had no time to seize the advantage, a superheated whine of air was the only warning he had before a blast of star-hot plasma came straight at him. Shran threw himself to the floor and the blast of plasma passed inches over his head, incandescent energy searing the paint off his armour.

Shran rose to his feet but too slowly for the pair of traitors had rallied and come charging back into the fight and piled onto him. They wrestled and grappled together in a ringing clang of ceramite-clad bodies, there was no more room for fancy moves or elegant strikes only the hack and slash of brutal combat. Shran's blades burned blackened scores across ceramite but were denied the angle for killing stokes, the traitor's knives sought gaps and chinks in his plate but never quite found the moment. He realised for all their skill and cunning the traitors had never fought anyone wearing Mark V plate; their attacks kept getting deflected by unusual welds and oddly placed bonding studs. The Word Bearers still had the advantage of numbers and teamwork and they were learning fast but this was Shran's element, here he excelled. For he was no master of stealth or grand strategist, he could not lead men or perform dazzling displays of swordsmanship but in the brutal carnage of the melee he was a prodigy. He focussed his rage and his hatred into a burning lance of fury and threw everything he had into claiming vengeance for his slain brothers and his own lost innocence. Suddenly two-horns feinted high before dropping to one knee even as Shran moved to parry, then reversed his grip on his knife and swung back handed towards the gap in the armour over the femoral artery. It was a good move but Shran had seen it before, had seen several of his brothers fall to the same tactic on Istvaan V and against a veteran you only had one chance. He pivoted hard on his left leg, bringing his right out of danger and turning it into a roundhouse kick that drove hard into daemon-face's chest driving him back. Even as two-horns realised his attack had failed Shran had spun completely around on his own axis, using his momentum to propel his left arm under the shoulder plate and drive his lightning claws into the traitors' armpit stabbing so deeply that they ripped into both hearts. Two-horns expired with a gasp of disbelief and Shran allowed himself a sliver of hope that his foul masters in the warp would take their time consuming the traitor's soul. But there was no time to celebrate for Daemon-face had rallied, Shran leapt into action but not forwards. Instead he dove left towards the plasma gunner, who was still circling looking for a shot; Shran slashed in with a clumsy overhanded strike but was deflected by the butt of the rifle. He heard Daemon-face charging in from behind and twisted hard to evade, he felt the edge of a knife whistle past the neck of his armour but managed to stumble away, then he did something most curious; he stopped still and began to chuckle. Both traitors were given pause as they sought the cause his amusement, they never found out for at that moment the Plasma Rifle overloaded. Cooling units cunningly severed by Shran's seemingly clumsy strike were outpaced by the exponentially increasing energy in the firing chamber and in a moment of incandescent fury it reached critical mass. Magnetic fields struggled to contain the blast but could not stop star-hot plasma erupting from the rifle and incinerating everything within a few feet. Even shielded behind magnetic fields and thick ceramite Shran could feel his skin itch at the radiation as the nearest mahogany panels caught fire and turned to ash in seconds from the radiant heat. Then the plasma expended its fuel leaving Shran standing alone surrounded by ash and the liquefied remains of his foes.

Shran stood there for long moments, chest heaving and limbs burning with acid build up, it seemed impossible that mere minutes had passed since he entered the building but the compressed time of combat was no stranger to him. He looked upon the traitors' remains expecting some measure of relief or even satisfaction but his heart felt nothing, only the constant ache of loss and dark need for revenge. His musing was cut short by the sound of the guards arriving, two White Scars and Captain Ghorgis, they burst into the area and brought up their bolters as they saw the devastation. Ghorgis barked "_What is the meaning of this!_" and Shran shrugged and said, "_What does it look like?_" He knew his insolence was a mistake when Ghorgis's hand tightened on his bolt pistol and he gestured to the guards to move forwards and flank him on either side. The White Scars took the laws of hospitality very, very seriously and by violating them Shran had put his own life in serious danger. However one of the guards paused, looking at the remains of two-horns, he knelt down and lifted the corpses head saying, "_Sir, these horns, there not an affection, there growing right out of his skull, how is that poss…_" He sentence was abruptly cut short as his head exploded, the sudden shock made everyone freeze for an instant but then the other guard's head exploded too. Ghorgis lowered his smoking bolt pistol and his grin was all Shran needed to see to know that this was no accident, this was treachery most foul. Even as Ghorgis's pistol came around Shran was in motion, leaping forward to gut this betrayer with his claws. Ghorgis dropped his pistol and met the Raven Guard with both hands wrapped around the hilt of his straight-edged sword. Within three blows Shran knew he was facing a master of the blade and within three more he knew that this was the most dangerous opponent he had ever faced in his life. His fencing skill was simply superb, a dazzling display of distraction and feints leading into perfect ripostes and counter-attacks. Every attack was countered was effortless ease and turned back into a counter-attack that nicked and gouged at the edges of his armour. Had this been an even match Shran knew he would have died within seconds and his advantage was fast slipping away as his opponent adapted to meet his style of combat. The Raven Guard was forced to fall back, only the multiple blades of his lightning claws saving him from being eviscerated. Ghorgis advanced in step, feinting high before thrusting towards the groin, Shran moved to block but even as his claws made contact Ghorgis used the momentum to swing his elbow up and smash into his nose. A froth of blood spat forth and he desperately swung outwards seeking to clear some space but Ghorgis easily evaded the blow and sliced under to score across his flank, the energised blade cut deep and Shran seethed in agony. He twisted hard and managed to avoid a killing stroke but he was bleeding out faster than his lyramman cells could compensate. Shran had spent time in the gladiatorial pits of the World Eaters and earned a modest reputation but this was something else, a level beyond his experience and expertise. Even among the ranks of the Astartes there were those who stood out, names of legend like Sigismund of the VIIth, Raldoron of the IXth and Lucius of the IIIrd. Ghorgis would have ranked along any of those but his name was unknown. It was inconceivable that the Vth had raised such a perfect warrior in secrecy and yet though his opponent was an absolute master of the blade his style had none of the grandiose sweeping gestures born of a life in a saddle. Fighting styles were as unique as finger prints and Ghorgis's was unlike any Shran had ever faced before, there were elements of Terran basic melded with the high thrusts of Baalite patterns and the precise point work of Inwit custom. Totally different and incompatible styles, somehow melded together in a manner that any conventional blade master would have sworn was impossible, becoming more than the sum of its parts. Despite himself Shran could not help but cross his blades over his chest and growl, "_Just who the hell are you?_" the reply changed everything, three words that recast the entire course of his mission.

The White Scar grinned and said in a flawless Terran accent, _"I am Alpharius_"

Shran gasped in disbelief and for a moment his guard dropped, it was a deadly mistake for the newly revealed Alpha Legionnaire swept in and stabbed through the gap. His claws were knocked to one side and in a moment of sheer horror the blade swept down and cut straight through his right arm. Blinding agony burst through his body and Shran fell to his knees, his armour struggled to pump pain balms and coagulants into his body but the damage was too severe to compensate for. The shock and pain threatened to drop him into unconsciousness but worse was the crushing sense of failure and guilt that his mission should end like this. Ghorgis stood over him, sword raised for the beheading stroke that would end this fight, but Shran could not see him. For a moment the Raven Guard was not in the den of evil, not even on Chondax but back in the ashes of Istvaan V, where the mud and blood befouled his eyes and nostrils. The scream of artillery shells all around deafened his ears and shadows of Titans threw him into darkness, as far as the eye could see figures in Astartes plate hacked and stabbed with the ferocity that only basest betrayal could unleash. He saw the piles of the dead, his brothers all, and their eyes burned into him accusing him of his failure of his inability to save even one of them. Shran felt again the blackest depths of his despair and the guilt that had almost taken him while he convalesced on Terra and he looked once more into the infinite chasm that led to death. The dark cloud on his soul threatened to choke his throat with bile but from the depths of the darkness came a single spark of light, a bloody crimson light burning with wrath and vehemence. It roared upwards from the chasm consuming all in its path and blazed across his senses until all he could see was tainted with visceral red and all he could feel was purest wrath. Shran's vision cleared and through a crimson haze he saw Ghorgis, in a single moment that stretched for an eternity he realised the traitor was still in motion, arm sweeping down glacially slowly to end his life. The agony was incredible but that was irrelevant for the wrath filled him crushing all else in its demand for vengeance, the need to excise the black guilt in bloodshed. With infinite slowness Shran raised his left arm and roared his fury as he hurled himself forward to meet his fate in Ghorgis's embrace.


	5. Chapter 5

Through the busy encampment came a band of Astartes in purest white, they marched with purpose and determination and all scattered before them. At the heart of their formation strode Durhan, his golden armour caked in the chalky dust of Chondax. His companion's absence had not been commented upon and he could only wonder at what that meant. Had he succeeded in his elusive objectives or had he been captured and was even now being tortured for every secret he possessed? Durhan had no way of knowing and all he could do was to rehearse over and over again what he would say to the Great Khan, what arguments he would present to make him see reason. As they marched Durhan tried to monitor the passers-by for tells and clues but they seemed indifferent to his presence and carried on their normal lives as if he were of no consequence. He even tried scrolling through the vox-frequencies but the few unencrypted channels he found were all in the language of Chogris and of no help. All Durhan could do was keep walking and hope that his pleas had been enough to persuade the White Scars to join the war on the side of the loyalists. Eventually the column reached the command pavilion and Durhan was taken straight in past the standing guards and was led through the maze of free standing panels that formed the interior. In the centre of command pavilion the gathered Captains were assembled to hear the Khan's judgement, and Durhan was most distressed to see that the moot had started without him. He marched up to the edge of the crowd and the assembled captains parted before him to reveal the stage and seated upon it Jaghatai Khan Lord and Primarch of the Vth Legion. His magnificence stole the breath away, even when one was expecting it there simply was no way to be ready for the sheer vitality of a son of the Emperor. Yet for all the grandeur of embodied in the being before him Durhan's eyes slipped into the crowd where a dark patch of maroon and sea-green marred the flawless line of white. The Word Bearers and Sons of Horus were here before him and they were already in conversation with the equerry Targutai Yesugei.

In that instant Durhan knew the Primarch had made the choice already, that his arguments had fallen upon deaf ears and that the traitor's insidious grip went far deeper than he had suspected. No plea of his could now alter the course of events that would occur here, the Vth would enter the war but on the wrong side. The might of a whole Legion would strengthen the rebels and the already desperate odds facing the loyalists would only become that much more overwhelming. As Targutai Yesugei took the stage Durhan could see the traitors preening and gloating at the coming announcement. The equerry struck the dais to call for order; he went to strike twice more but before he could finish there was a commotion at the rear of the crowd. All eyes turned to see where the distress was coming from and as the crowd parted there were gasps of astonishment. Staggering through the crowd came a dishevelled wreck of an Astartes warrior, dragging his feet and barely able to stand. Had he not been the only Raven Guard on the planet it would have been hard to tell that it was Shran for his wounds were grave indeed. Deep gouges and rents covered every surface of the worn plate and it sparked and hissed whenever he moved. Blood and darker fluids ran freely from a huge gash in his side and one whole arm was missing, the distinctive scent of lyramman cells told of the scabs covering the stump. He limped one agonising step at a time, eyes fixed upon the dais and under his remaining arm he carried a thickly bound tome. The crowd of White Scars opened around him as if wary to touch him but Durhan moved to support his comrade even as he looked ready to collapse. As if a spell was broken every voice in the moot was raised, accusations of deceit and violation of the laws of hospitality came from all sides while the Traitors demanded the pair be executed at once. Shran's only response was to hurl the tome onto the dais with his one arm then collapse against Durhan. The volume of the crowd increased and for a moment it looked as if they would erupt into violence. Then a massive groaning rang through the hall, all eyes turned to the dais to see that the Khan was gripping his throne so hard that the wood was splintering under his fists.

Every soul in the moot froze as still as mice in the presence of a great predator as the Kahn slowly shifted in his seat. He leaned forwards better see the tome and it became clear that the runes of Colchis were visible on its cover. With a groan of creaking wood Jaghatai Khan rose from his abused throne and paced step by step across the dais, his head craning from side to side like an eagle eyeing its prey. He moved in complete silence and all held their tongues as he loomed over them, so overwhelming was his presence that fully augmented Astartes warrior were given pause by the merest movements of the Primarch. He paused just before the discarded tome and knelt before it, brushing his fingers across its bound leather surface and closing his eyes. The Great Kahn was utterly still, the only sign of life the slight movements of breathing; he held the pose for long seconds almost as if taking a scent from the Book of Lorgar. No expression crossed his face and no man could say what strange thoughts crossed his mind as the moments dragged out second by agonising second. Then Jaghatai Khan's eyes snapped open and he threw back his head as he roared "_WARP FILTH!_" In that instant everybody moved and Apostle Jahrut yelled, "_Kill him_!" but they were all too slow for the Khan had already acted. In single movement of grace and power so fast even an Astartes could not follow his movements he rose to his feet and he dove among his foes. The traitors reacted with inhuman speed but the sheer force of Primarch was beyond them, even as fingers tightened on triggers his flashing blade was out of its scabbard and killing them. He was as unstoppable and irresistible as the Sirocco wind of the deserts, his curved tulwar blade finding weak spots and neck seals with unearthly accuracy. In the time it took a mortal heart to beat thrice Jaghatai Kahn had dismembered the Traitors utterly, and not a single one of them had managed to even fire a shot, not a single one.

As the headless corpse of Apostle Jahrut collapsed Jaghatai Khan came to stillness before the sole survivor, Captain Gorgeth, his blade laid across the Traitor's neck. Slowly Gorgeth released his grip on his own sword, still undrawn and raised his hands in submission. The Khan fixed him in his gaze like a predator locking in on his prey, but it was Sergeant Durhan he addressed _Fist of Dorn, return to your master and tell him that the Vth Legion shall ride beside him_". His voice was as deep and rich as the rolling hills and commanded instant obedience. Sergeant Durhan was occupied tending to Shran's wounds but he replied with a simple, "_Yes Sir_". The Khan returned his attention to Gorgeth who barely dared to breathe as the Primarch chose his fate, "_You_" he growled, "_You shall return to the arch betrayer and tell him this. The Berkut Eagle always returns to the hand that unleashed it._" And with that he turned and stalked away leaving the crowd behind him in his wake as he swept out of the building towards the horizon and the future.


End file.
